Something Borrowed
by irithyll
Summary: That time Marco almost drowned in a lake because Piers had a death wish and Claire insisted on making things very, very hard. For cyanCaddy with love.


Please be advised: don't let the word count fool you because this is most definitely 9k words of smut. Oh dear.

* * *

Claire suspects that she might be more excited about her brother's wedding than he is, but that's not to say that Chris isn't more than elated about marrying the love of his life. Chris and Jill have always been practical, simple people, and it was only as a result of Claire's insistence that a wedding ceremony even occurs. The two of them were more than content with a nondescript courthouse wedding, but Claire would sooner die than allow her brother's wedding occur so nonchalantly.

If she was being honest with herself, Claire never imagined that Chris would get married before her. When it came to women, Chris's experience left much to be desired. Throughout the duration of his high school and Air Force days, Chris had never once brought a woman home. Claire suspected that perhaps there was something fundamentally wrong with him, that biology had somehow made a huge mistake when it came to her brother and that a longing for partnership and reproduction simply weren't in his genes. She had always wanted a sister, but she begrudgingly accepted that a sister-in-law simply wouldn't ever exist in her life because her brother's genotype apparently resembled that of an amoeba's.

It was because of this that Claire was so surprised when Jill Valentine walked into Chris's life. Though his interest in her was apparent, Chris elected to remain just as hard headed as ever when it came to his interest in her as a woman. Claire knew Chris better than anyone else and never once bought the lines he fed everyone about Jill merely being is _work _partner.

"You can tell me, you know," she had once attempted to persuade him, "It's not like I'm gonna tell your boss."

Her pressure never caused Chris to falter. He always maintained his ground, referring to Jill as being nothing more than his partner-in-crime, and Claire had almost started to believe him until he brought her home one night with the claim that there was a gas leak in her apartment. Chris Redfield never brought women home and Claire wondered if Jill had any idea how special she was in spite of Chris sleeping on the couch that night.

Claire had hoped for the best. She wanted Chris to have a happily ever after and a niece for her to dote on, but their lives became complicated by Umbrella's mistakes. After enduring the events at Arklay and witnessing the destruction of Raccoon City, there was no time left for romance between the two of them. Both Chris and Jill had been left damaged, burned by the effects of bioterrorism, and their vendetta for eradicating it from existence overpowered their interest in one another.

She didn't tease Chris about Jill any longer. What she had once regarded as a budding romance between the two of them suddenly felt like a tragedy. Their contributions to the war against terrorism were too precious for them to let the fight go and they devoted themselves entirely to the cause. This didn't mean her brother's pain went unnoticed. Claire saw the guilt in his eyes, the regret he carried because of his indecisiveness about coming clean about his feelings early on in their _totally_ platonic, not-at-all-romantic-in-any-way relationship.

Her brother's regret reached a critical high when Jill went and fucking _died._ Well, died but not _really_ died. Claire didn't know if Chris's apprehension about confessing his feelings was a result of fear that Jill didn't reciprocate them, but she felt that the fact that she threw herself out of a window to save Chris's life was ample enough evidence to put that fear to rest.

When Jill Valentine was declared dead, Claire thought that Chris ought to have been as well. He changed then, in ways that she didn't even _want_ to recount. When he started spouting nonsense about how Jill was still alive and he was going to find her, Claire chalked it up to alcoholism and psychosis that manifested from his trauma. She attempted to reason with him, to get him away from the B.S.A.A. and the lingering ghost of Jill Valentine, but she was ultimately unsuccessful.

Imagine _her_ shame when Chris proved to be right. Jill Valentine wasn't dead—she was made into a fucking B.O.W. by the man she attempted to kill in order to save Chris's life. Though Jill was alive, Claire could never envision a happy ending for neither Chris or Jill. The trauma was too extensive, their demons had sunk their claws in too deep, and there was no discernible way to heal Jill's broken body or mind.

Claire is more than happy to eat her humble pie as she slowly zips up the back of Jill's dress.

"Chris is going to cry when he sees you, you know." She warns her as the final teeth of the zipper come to a close and she brushes a curled tendril of Jill's pale hair away from the exposed skin of her back.

Jill's light blue eyes meet hers in the mirror and she smiles shyly as she sheepishly looks away.

"He won't cry," she says with a laugh, "There are too many people around."

Claire clicks her tongue in disbelief while she adjusts the elaborate floral pins that keep Jill's hair gathered together, "Geez, for his soon-to-be-wife, you don't know my brother very well."

Claire watches Jill's attention briefly flutter to the scarred tissue that rests above her sternum and she frowns.

"Nobody's going to be paying any attention to that." She whispers as she takes Jill by the shoulders and turns her, forcing them to face one another. "You look amazing, Jill. Really."

Jill lets out a breathy laugh, one that communicates her embarrassment for having been caught being so self-conscious, and she smiles.

"Thanks for being here with me." She warmly says. "You and Chris are the best things to ever happen to me."

Claire's heart feels as though it's swelling, but it doesn't deter her from feeling a little bit of sorrow. Jill's life has consisted of nothing more than one catastrophe before the next and she resents that because she's been so _good_ to her brother and the human race, but she still insists that she's unworthy because of the things Wesker did.

"I love you, Jill." Claire's voice cracks a little because _fuck,_ she's both happy _and_ sad and these tears in her eyes aren't really anything to be ashamed of. "You deserve to be happy today."

She pulls her into an embrace that lingers. Claire rests her chin on her shoulder and closes her eyes as she holds Jill close to her in one of those near-suffocating Redfield hugs. After a long pause, she pulls away. Claire smooths out the wrinkles in the champagne-colored dress that she wears and peers into the mirror to repin a piece of her hair that has fallen loose.

"It's about time you go out there and marry my brother, isn't it?" She asks and Jill laughs nervously as Claire offers her arm.

Claire walks Jill down the aisle in place of the father she doesn't have and she grins with satisfaction when she sees the subtle sign of tears that form in her brother's eyes. The ceremony goes exactly as planned with dry vows and a stiff, awkward kiss because, even at their own wedding, the two of them can't seem to be open about their relationship. It's endearing in a way, but Claire still gives Chris hell about it later.

The sadness that overwhelms her afterwards is surprising. Claire can't exactly pinpoint _why_ she feels so empty, but as she leans against the wall and watches their friends intermingle with one another, she feels a painful hollowness in her chest. She tells herself that it's because she's spent the last three months meticulously planning Chris's wedding and she doesn't yet know how to fill the void left behind now that it's over. Claire convinces herself that it's definitely _not_ because she never would have expected her brother to get married before her. After all, no one likes a person who feels sorry for themselves, do they?

She wrinkles her nose and takes a generous sip of her beer. It's nice to step away from the spotlight to observe the fruits of her labor and she's grateful to know that her dues have been paid. Claire watches Barry animatedly clap Chris on the back and the men guffaw with one another, no doubt at the expense of some terrible joke on Barry's part.

"You did a really nice job, Claire." Sherry compliments. "If you ever get sick of the whole 'saving the world' gig, you could totally do this for a living."

Claire smiles bashfully and thanks her before the younger woman is whisked away by some bright-eyed bachelor for a dance. The way Sherry giggles and leans in close to him reminds her of her twenties and the type of love one can only experience at that age, but the memories sour quickly. As soon as she thinks she's probably doomed to die a spinster, Claire mentally berates herself for the stupid thought. Today is not the day to wallow in sorrow over her poor life choices.

Acknowledging such doesn't keep her from drinking a third beer and then a fourth. She feels the alcohol-induced flush coming on and the world feels warm and fuzzy as she watches Chris dance with Jill with a goofy grin plastered on his face. Claire's happy for him, happy for them _both,_ and she wonders if she'll ever meet a man who will look at her the way Chris does Jill.

Fuck, she's being pathetic. Claire pinches the bridge of her nose and clenches her eyes shut so tightly that it makes her dizzy. Maybe she should get a pet, a dog or a cat to keep her feet warm at night and gratefully greet her at the door when she returns from work. That's what significant others are for, isn't it?

"Hey, Claire."

The voice is so familiar that she doesn't need to open her eyes to recognize who it belongs to, so she doesn't. Claire exhales slowly and refuses to open her eyes as she greets him back.

"Hey, Leon."

She tells herself not to be weak, that getting drunk isn't an excuse to climb into his bed. The pit in her stomach burrows deep, but it's not _that_ deep. They're long past sloppy make out sessions and quietly untangling themselves from the soiled sheets to slip away unnoticed at the crack of dawn.

"Never thought this day would come." He laughs. "About damn time, huh?"

Claire opens her eyes and she hates herself for it. Leon is just as infuriatingly handsome as he's always been and she forces herself not to notice the way his suit perfectly frames his broad shoulders.

"Yep," she tries to be curt in hopes that it'll discourage any form of conversation he has to offer, "About time."

Leon smiles as he allows his eyes to roam down the length of her.

"It's been a while." He tells her as his gaze moves back up to her face. "You look nice."

She tells herself it's acid reflux causing the flutter she feels in her chest. After all, she's _old_ and drunk. Isn't that what happens at this age?

"Thanks." She cringes at the words that soon fly out of her mouth, "So do you."

Leon looks her in the eyes and she quickly turns away to survey the crowd.

"Would you like to dance?" He smoothly asks as he offers her his hand.

"Not really."

Leon seems wounded by her rejection. He continues to stare at her and she refuses to meet his eyes as she tucks her hair behind her ear. She pretends to wave to someone across the room and Leon lets out a strained sigh.

"What happened to us, Claire?" His voice is soft and she almost mistakes it for a backhanded apology until she truly processes what he's said.

"What happened to _us_?" She laughs harshly. "No, Leon, what happened to _you_?"

Between Ada Wong, alcohol, and the trauma he had sustained, it's hard to tell which demon took away the man she once loved. She wonders if it's an amalgamation of them all, the perfect mixture to concoct his particular brand of cruelty.

"Claire…" He seems taken off guard and a petty part of her hopes she hurt him in some way. "You know what happened. Work and…"

He pauses and Claire knows he's struggling to come up with an excuse.

"We both know it wasn't _just_ work." She spats as she feels tears well up in her eyes. "It was a lot of things, Leon, like the fact that I was never your first pick."

He opens his mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand to silence him.

"You never loved me as much as I loved you." She feels a tear run down her cheek and she hates it, herself, and Leon while she adds, "And you never will."

He's quiet for a moment and Claire thinks about taking back what she's said out of regret that she might have genuinely hurt him.

"I _did_ love you, Claire," he rasps, "What we had...what we _have_ is…"

"Leon, please." She furrows her brow as she gestures around her. "Is now the best time? Do we _really_ have to discuss this on my brother's fucking wedding day?"

Her words seem to strike a nerve. Leon lets out an aggravated sigh and his body language stiffens.

"Well, Claire, you never answer your goddamn phone, so how the hell am I supposed to—"

"Excuse me."

She lets out a breath of relief as she turns to meet the man who has interrupted them. Claire finds that she's stunned by the pair of amber irises that are focused on her and she's so captivated by the sight of them that it takes her a moment to recognize him. Though they've never physically been this close to one another, she knows exactly who he is. Piers Nivans is her brother's best man and, somehow, she's never spoken a word to him in her life.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he coyly apologizes, "But I feel that it's some sort of unspoken law for the best man to share a dance with the maid of honor."

Both she and Leon stare at him, dumbstruck.

"If you're so inclined, that is." Piers adds with a short, theatrical bow of his head and Claire smiles.

"I believe you're right," she responds, briefly turning towards Leon to sharply narrow her eyes at him, "And I most certainly am so very inclined."

Piers grins with a wide, boyish smile that stokes the flames of something deep inside of her. He looks to Leon with a confident gaze and assures him that he'll return Claire to him shortly, but Leon flippantly waves him off in a silent declaration that says _don't bother._

His hands are warm and envelop her waist with ease. Piers takes one of her hands in his and leads her slowly in tune with the orchestral music that plays in the background. Claire looks up at him and his eyes flit downwards to meet hers. She sees something mischievous twinkle in his eye and she finally realizes what just occurred.

"I could have handled it myself, you know." She petulantly informs him as her expression crumbles into that of a sulk.

"Hm?" Piers looks away, but the corner of his mouth is curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The playfulness in his words fans the flames inside of her, forcing them to rise higher. Claire feels them in her face, her cheeks hot and undoubtedly flushed, and she barely notices her own smile.

"Even though I _didn't_ need your help," she stands on her tiptoes in her drunken bravado and brings her lips close to his ear as she whispers, "Thank you."

His hand moves from the side of her waist to rest on her lower back, hovering tantalizingly close to the curve of her ass. She pretends not to notice and studies his face, admiring the cut of his jaw and his high cheekbones. He's objectively handsome and she knows it's not just the fifth or sixth or whatever-th beer that makes her feel that way.

"You're welcome," his voice is deep and she watches his lip twitch as he fights off that know-it-all smirk once more, "Even though I _didn't_ do anything."

Claire laughs quietly and places a hand on his chest. She's not surprised to find that his body is hard beneath her touch and she's tempted to let her hand drift lower in exploration. After all, Piers Nivans is her brother's second-in-command and she wonders if he spots him at the gym too.

She feels the heat radiating from his body and she tells herself that she steps closer to him because the slinky, backless dress she's wearing isn't doing much to keep her warm. Her hips find his on their own accord and she hears him hiss as his hand slips lower, fingertips faintly brushing against the apex of her ass.

"Sorry," she giggles and buries her face in his dress shirt to hide the embarrassment on her face, "I'm a little tipsy."

She feels his laughter beneath her cheek as she remains pressed against him.

"No shame necessary," he assures her, "Isn't that what weddings are for?"

Claire thinks she likes him and the way he's drawing little circles against her hip bone with his thumb. When the song ends, he takes a short step backwards, leaving a few inches of space between their bodies. Claire looks up at him, cheeks pink from alcohol and luminescent from her make up, and he thinks that there's no way in hell that something so perfect came from the same gene pool as his Captain.

He wonders if this is how'd she look as he tilted her face towards his to capture her mouth with his own. The thought worsens the ache between his thighs and it takes every ounce of discipline that he has to will that mental image away. Piers wasn't sure what he expected when he decided to interrupt the argument between her and that man, but he's more than pleased that this is the outcome. The look on her face as she shared heated words with the guy elicited a visceral reaction in him, a sharpness in his chest that seemed to spear right through his heart.

Piers can't understand how someone could willingly hurt her, not when she's looking at him with flushed cheeks and parted lips that seem to be begging for his attention. Her mere presence is a test of his patience. The draw he feels towards her is inexplicable, something he's never experienced with a woman before, and it feels like the air around them is electrified.

"Do you want to get a drink?" She suddenly asks and nervously catches her lower lip between her teeth.

Piers wonders if he should refuse for her sake. There's no telling how much alcohol is in her system and he knows he shouldn't encourage it, but _god,_ it's hard to say no when she's standing there and looking so pretty.

"My treat." Claire says in a sing-song voice, but then she starts to laugh.

"Actually," she corrects herself, "My brother is technically buying because it's his wedding and all. I mean...you know that. Probably."

Piers feels it in his chest. She's so adorable that it almost hurts.

"Oh god," her eyes widen in horror, "I'm so stupid. Of course you know that."

She wrinkles her nose.

"I'm drunk." She finally confesses. "Probably maybe drunk."

She emphasizes her point by pinching her fingers together and allowing the slightest bit of space to exist between them. Piers suspects she's more than probably maybe drunk and that he, too, might be kind of sort of drunk.

"To be fair, I might be kind of sort of drunk myself."

When she smiles, he feels a little weak in the knees. The dainty sleeve of her dress slips down her shoulder and he doesn't know why something so small makes him ache, but it _does. _It's too much for him to take and he slides the gauzy fabric back over the curve of her shoulder. With that action, he discovers that her skin is so soft that he nearly groans and he looks up at the ceiling, clenching his eyes shut.

Claire braces her hands against his chest for leverage as she rises onto her tiptoes again. Her cheek brushes against his as she leans in close enough to press a kiss beside his ear and murmur, "Thanks for the dance."

She saunters off before he realizes it and Piers decides he's never needed a drink as badly as he does then.

Finn and Reid are leaning against the bar when he approaches. The smirk on Reid's face says everything he knows he's about to hear, so he holds up a hand in a futile attempt to deter him.

"Nivans, Nivans, _Nivans._" He mocks as he passes him a beer. "What kind of flowers do you want on your casket?"

Finn snorts, "Bold of you to assume there will be anything left to bury once Captain gets a hold of him."

Piers rolls his eyes as he takes a healthy swig of his beer.

"It's called being nice. You should try it sometime."

Marco approaches from behind and greets him with a heavy-handed slap on the back as he snickers.

"Didn't know you were suicidal, Nivans," he remarks, "Dry humping the Captain's sister at his own wedding? _Shiiiit_."

The three of them chuckle and Piers gives the cold shoulder as he takes a seat at a nearby table. As expected, the peanut gallery follows, and Piers thinks about telling the Captain that Alpha team would _really_ like to have more physical training added to their agenda.

"So," Finn slams his elbows down on the table and leans across it, "You gonna hit it, Nivans?"

Piers doesn't respond and Finn follows up with, "If you aren't, I totally am."

His demeanor shifts in an instant because it's not _like_ that. Angered by Finn's threat, he shoves him back into his chair with a hard thrust of his palm against his shoulder as he grits out, "Don't you fucking dare."

Finn snickers and leers at his teammates. Piers diverts his attention away from them and looks out at the crowd. He's just observing, he tells himself, not searching for anyone in particular.

"Hey, Redfield!" Marco shouts and waves boisterously in the opposite direction.

Piers rotates in his seat just in time to watch Claire approach. The sway of her hips and the subtle bounce of her breasts in the low neckline of her dress make him reconsider his earlier statement because maybe he was wrong and it really _is_ like that. Internally, he's pleading that she doesn't come. He can only imagine the things that will come out of his teammate's mouths.

She wears a bright smile as she gracefully slides into the seat beside Piers, oblivious to his telepathic pleas.

"Wrong Redfield, I think." She says with a laugh. Her cheeks are still flushed and her hair is starting to fall loose from its elaborate pins and he hates the way Finn's looking at her.

"Not at all." Finn cooes. "You're just who we were looking for."

She raises a curious eyebrow and looks over at Piers. He sighs and tilts his head downwards, shaking his head disappointedly. The temptation to provide preemptive damage control is there, but Marco speaks before he can form an excuse for their impending behavior.

"Got any dirt on Captain?"

Piers lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Claire smiles.

"Depends," she says, "What's it worth to you?"

Marco laughs and slides a beer in her direction. Piers wonders if he should intervene.

"Now we're talking." She pops off the cap and takes a sip. "What kind of dirt do you want?"

The group begins to chat animatedly with one another, but it's hard to focus with her sitting beside him. Claire makes herself comfortable and joins in on the conversation with such ease that, had he not known any better, he would have assumed she'd met them all before. There's a round of laughter and a moment of quiet as they all take a drink. He has no idea what's happening, so he mimics their actions in order to blend in.

"I've gotta ask," Marco begins, "If I may be so bold…"

"Rose." It's almost a growl, but no one seems to take his threat seriously.

"I don't see a ring. Are you single?" His gaze flickers to Piers.

He wants to punch that smirk right off his face, but Claire suddenly laughs.

"I am." She smoothly responds.

From beneath the table, he feels her rest her palm over his knee and she gives it a gentle squeeze. Piers doesn't know what the hell it's supposed to mean, but her hand doesn't move. She keeps it there, curved around his knee, and he thinks the heat of her skin might burn him.

One of the guys lets out a wolf whistle.

"Looking to mingle?" Reid asks as he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Finn inquires about her dating history, asks if she's ever been with a soldier before. Marco tells her he's always had a thing for redheads. Piers doesn't need to stand up for Claire because she does it herself.

"Boys, don't waste your time," Claire says, pausing to finish off the last of her beer, "If I am to go home with any of you, it'll be Nivans."

Piers feels blood beat in his ears and her hand moves, her fingers trailing along the inside of his thigh. His mouth feels impossibly dry and he shifts in his seat in hope of relieving the sudden throbbing in his loins. Her hand moves close, almost to his hip, and he thinks he might explode.

The guys are laughing their asses off and Claire pulls her hand away, her touch unseen.

"Just kidding." She teases. "Don't be so serious, Nivans."

Piers thinks he wouldn't mind taking her home with him.

"Don't pick on Nivans," Finn says, "He can't help the fact that he was born with a stick up his ass."

Claire looks at him, eyes dark with something he can't discern. He watches her suck lip between her teeth once more and he suspects he might die tonight if she doesn't stop soon. Her long lashes flutter and whatever she's wearing on her lips glistens under the light and he doesn't understand what he did to deserve this type of torture.

She doesn't know where this side of her is coming from. Claire chalks it up to ingesting too much alcohol on a nearly empty stomach, but a small part of her knows there's something more to it. Piers makes her feel something she's never experienced before and it's exciting, a welcome change to the chill of the loneliness that often fills her. She can tell he's different from the other guys, different from _any_ guy, and it makes her feel bubbly.

Piers's chair scrapes loudly against the tile and he mumbles something about needing fresh air.

Claire entertains them for a little while longer. She lies, tells them that Chris is terrified of spiders and listens exclusively to Korean pop. They eat it up eagerly and she soon bids them goodbye, telling them that she wants to see Jill one more time, but she already knows she and Chris had already snuck away from the festivities some time ago.

She finds Piers outside. The venue sits beside a large lake and she sees him perched on the edge of one of the docks in the distance. Claire slips off her heels and gathers the skirt of her dress in her fist as she tiptoes through the grass in his direction. He hears her soft footsteps against the wood of the dock, but he doesn't think he can look at her right now, lest he lose himself entirely.

"Hey." Her voice is husky and it stirs the ache between his thighs once more.

"Hey."

He stares out at the lake and watches the moonlight reflect off its surface. The night air carries a slight chill that he appreciates because she isn't even touching him and he already feels like he's on fire. He swallows hard and peeks at her from the corner of his eye.

"So," it must be liquid courage that compels him to speak, "You'd go home with me, huh?"

Even in the blue moonlight, he can tell that her blush worsens at the mention of it.

"I thought I made that pretty clear." She takes a seat beside him and lets her legs dangle over the edge of the dock. Her toes don't quite reach the water's edge, but she imagines that the coolness of it would be a relief right now.

Claire pulls the pins from her hair and shakes it loose, letting it fall in waves around her shoulders. She rakes her fingers through it slowly to work out the tangles and he watches her with a sense of fascination that surprises even himself.

"Claire," the way he says her name makes her shiver, "You're making this _really_ hard…"

The hand that rests atop his thigh curls into a fist and he takes a fistful of the fabric of his pants.

"How hard?"

He nearly chokes on his own saliva. Piers breathes in through his nose, takes in a cleansing breath, and slowly lets it out through his mouth.

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" He's mocking her, she thinks, and she fires it right back at him.

"No shit, Piers. I've been trying to tell you that all night."

He moves so fast that she can hardly even register what's happening. She feels his hand on her forearm and she's suddenly pinned down against the dock, her head resting in his palm to keep from colliding against the hard surface. Piers is pressed against her, eyes held shut as he breathes slowly, and she swallows hard.

Piers opens his eyes and almost can't handle the way she's looking at him. Her pale skin nearly seems to glow in the low light and her dark hair spills across the deck beneath her. The alcoholic flush in her cheeks is still present and her blue eyes are heavily lidded, framed by her long lashes. She looks up at him intently with those damn bedroom eyes and he doesn't know if he has it in him to wait until he takes her home.

He closes some of the distance between them, bringing his face so close to hers that she imagines that the slightest movement would be enough to meet her mouth with his. Her lips part slightly, allowing her hot breath to fan across his face, but he keeps his eyes on hers. His amber eyes are dark, smoldering, and she thinks he's finally going to kiss her.

Piers touches her slowly. His thumb moves across the crest of her cheekbone and then along the curve of her face at an agonizing pace. He pauses, resting his thumb against the edge of her jaw, and Claire draws in a shaky breath.

He moves, brings his thumb around the side of her mouth and lets it settle above her upper lip. Piers watches her with that intense gaze and he carefully, finally, drags his thumb down, over her upper lip. He catches her lower lip against the edge of his thumb, pulls it back slightly, and stops.

Neither of them breathe. Her lip is full and soft beneath his finger and she desperately waits for his next move. Claire wants him to kiss her, but he _doesn't._ He stays there, hovering above her with the tip of his thumb just barely wedged between her lips. Without pretense, Piers shifts his hips, and she finally feels just how hard she's making it.

She moves her tongue across the pad of his thumb, a sensation so light he can barely feel it, and his eyes roll back in his head. Claire Redfield is the hottest woman he's ever met and if she ends up being the death of him, so be it.

"Fuck."

The breath that comes after his expletive teases her lips. He pulls his thumb away slightly, lets it rest against her lower lip, and she bats her eyelashes once before asking, "Me?"

Piers groans.

"Not here."

His voice is deep, strained. She likes the way it sounds. Piers can hardly believe he has the restraint to pull himself away from her. He offers her a hand, assists her to standing, and he looks her up and down, undressing her with his eyes like he's wanted to all night.

"Come on." He says softly, offering her his hand.

She interlaces her fingers with his and ignores the wetness between her thighs as she falls into step beside him. The hotel is essentially across the street, but it suddenly seems light years away. He takes his hand from hers and loops an arm around her to draw her closer. Piers holds her snugly against him even as they step into the hotel lobby.

He doesn't let go. A few people join them in wait for the elevator and he steps in first, settling with his back against the wall. As the elevator fills, he wraps an arm around her and gently pulls her to him so that she can feel him against her ass. The other occupants of the elevator are oblivious to his antics and he tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

They can't reach his floor fast enough. Piers presses his fingers to her lower back and guides her to his room at the end of the hall. She hears the electronic lock lift as he calmly slips his card key into the slot and she thinks she might faint as she follows him inside.

Piers is quick. He spins around and pins her against the door, his arms extended on either side of her head. She looks up at him, sees his pupils dilate and his chest heave, and he lowers his head until his lips are merely a hair's width from hers.

"Last chance," he rasps, "No hard feelings."

Claire crushes her mouth against his. He tangles a hand in her hair to cradle her head in his palm and he kisses her with abandon, nipping at her lower lip to draw quiet whines from her. Claire gasps against his mouth and he takes advantage of it. His tongue meets hers and he groans when he discovers that she tastes like beer and something _else,_ something unique to her that makes him twitch and ache.

Piers draws back, but not for long. Her lips are full and flushed, a hue that's darker than the stain of pink that dusts her cheeks, and it's enough to instantly draw him back in. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her breathlessly, his thumbs resting against her cheeks as he gently tugs her lower lip with his teeth.

He keeps his mouth on hers, kisses her long and hard as his hands find the backs of her thighs. He sweeps her legs out from under her with next to no effort, prompting her to wrap them around his waist. He embraces her against him as he clumsily navigates towards the bed as she continues to kiss him.

He sets her on the mattress and she keeps her legs loosely locked around him, holding him close as he slides her to the top of the bed. She takes a handful of his neatly tucked shirt and pulls it loose from the waistband of his pants, wasting no time in sliding her hand beneath it to explore the hard sculpt of his abs.

He breaks off the kiss, groaning as he admits, "You're going to be the death of me."

Claire nips at his jaw, sucks lightly at the skin stretched over his throat as she asks, "Is it worth it though?"

She tilts her pelvis and brushes her center against him and he hisses out a confirmation that it is very much worth it. He's painfully hard and straining against the confines of his dress pants, but he wants to savor this. Piers thinks she deserves to be worshipped and he intends to do just that.

He rests his hand over her throat and follows the long length of it. In the wake of his touch, he drags his lips over her trachea before turning her head to the side to nip at the side of her neck. Claire gasps, ruts against him, and he grazes his teeth over the sensitive flesh where her shoulder meets her neck.

His index finger tucks under the strap of her dress and he slides it down her shoulder, kissing the newly exposed skin. Claire arches her back and whines softly as he curls his finger around the neckline of her dress, just barely touching the tops of her breasts. Her dress is so thin that he can see the way her nipples pebble through it and he smirks as he leaves a kiss over her sternum.

Piers pulls back the second strap and carefully begins to lower the bodice of her dress. The way the fabric drags across her nipples makes her squirm beneath him, but he maintains his pace. He enjoys the slow reveal of her skin and stops when the edge of the fabric rests at her nipples. His lips ghost over the swells of her breasts and she takes a fistful of the sheet beneath her as she sucks in a breath.

"Piers."

"Hm?"

"Just take it _off._"

He moves his hand over the soft surface of her upper arm, up and back down, finally resting just above the bend of her elbow. Claire challenges his stare, looks right back at him with a heated glare, and he shakes his head.

"I don't usually do one night stands," he tells her, "So I want to savor this."

She laughs, informs him that neither does she.

Piers presses his lips against the shell of her outer ear as he says, "I wouldn't mind making it two."

Claire undoes the first button of his shirt and then the second.

"Only two?" She frees the third with a raised eyebrow and observes the hint of muscle revealed by the opening in his shirt.

"Three." His hand suddenly moves to cup one of her breasts and she gasps. "Or twelve?"

"That's more like it." She says breathlessly, arching her back to press more of her into his palm. "I think fourteen is a better number though."

Her dress pools beneath her hips and Piers explores the outside of her toned thigh with his fingertips, following it as close to her knee as he can while her leg is still around him. He brushes his thumb across the peak of her nipple that's still hidden beneath the fabric and the hold she has on his shirt tightens. She's thoughtless for a moment, distracted by the throbbing between her thighs, but she finds herself and undoes the rest of his buttons with deft hands.

He's just as she expected, graced with the athletic body fitting of a soldier. The dim light that hovers over the door nearby emphasizes the tone of his chest, casting shadows that most certainly work in his favor. She isn't shy with her exploration as she moves her fingers between the ridges and she feels his abs flex when she moves close to his belt.

Piers works her dress off of her from the opposite direction, prompting her to release her hold on him and lower her legs back to the bed. He slides back her skirt, pushing it over her hips, and he feels even hotter when the flimsy, little white lace piece she's wearing is revealed to him. His removal of her clothes pauses and he cups her right hip in his left hand to slide his thumb across the fabric.

He breathes in and then out, steels himself in order to maintain his pace. His hands find the flare of her hips and move up, smoothing over the narrow taper of her waist and along the grooves of her ribs. Her dress moves with them, bunching up just beneath her breasts, and she frowns when he pauses. Claire lifts her upper body from the mattress and hastily pulls her dress over her shoulders, discarding it with a toss over his shoulder as she drops back down to the bed.

Throughout his military career, Piers has been praised for many of his traits. He's diligent, patient, and methodical, everything that a sniper of his caliber should be. His discipline is unparalleled, allowing him to remain still in even the worst of conditions in wait for the perfect shot, and his excellence in combat has forced him to be defined by his title for a large portion of his life. Piers is a soldier, a _good_ one, but the sight of Claire's nearly bare body reminds him that, at his core, he's still a red-blooded man. She's definitely adopted, he decides, because nothing so curvy and pretty could ever share anything in common with his Captain.

"Fuck." He's breathless from simply looking at her.

Claire cants her hips, brings them to his and says, "That's the goal."

The hungry look in his eyes makes her somehow feel more naked than she already is. Piers buries his face in the side of her neck and trails hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. His rough fingertips are drawing insignificant shapes along the flat of her stomach and she gasps when he slips his thigh between hers and brushes it over the juncture between her thighs.

Claire manages to hiss his name from between clenched teeth as her back curves, heaving her breasts against his bare chest. She combs her fingers through his hair, lightly teasing his scalp with her nails, and he groans against her collarbone. His mouth lowers to her breast and her body jerks at the feel of his hot, wet suckle. Claire whimpers his name and he flicks his tongue across her nipple before moving away, traveling south as he kisses down the center of her torso.

"It sounds best when you say it." He murmurs against her skin, lips hesitating at the frilled hem of her lingerie.

Claire supposes she should be embarrassed as he looks down at her because there's no way he doesn't see the wetness smeared along her inner thigh, but the numbing effects of alcohol work in her favor. There is no shame as she subtly parts her thighs and they both forget to breathe when he brushes his index finger over her.

Piers looks up at her and she doesn't expect what comes next. He watches her with lustful focus and she wonders if she should say something, but suddenly he's lifting her hips, peeling back her drenched panties, and tossing her legs over his shoulders. She's confused, lips parted in question, and he dumps her weight back so she's supporting herself on her forearms.

"Pi—_oh_!"

He doesn't warn her before he buries his face between her thighs and Claire can't hold back the surprised squeak she makes when his tongue drags over her entrance, swooping upwards and stopping at the top of her folds. He watches her from over the flat plane of her pelvis and she knows that sober Claire is probably dead from embarrassment by now.

Piers fervently laps at her as he slips a finger inside of her, causing her to unexpectedly jolt her hips forward. He groans against her and she writhes in his hold, vision beginning to spot as her arousal builds. She feels him slide another finger inside of her, stretching her, and she makes a quiet whine of desperation that doesn't quite leave her throat, a sound that he feels right between his legs.

He's merciful—or perhaps not. Piers draws his mouth away from her and slows the pump of his fingers. He watches her and lowers her hips back to the mattress as he languidly works her with his fingers. The pad of his thumb replaces his tongue and he traces small, teasing circles against her nub. It's more stimulation than she can take and she grips his forearm in an unspoken plea for him to stop.

When he pauses, she pulls back and looks up at him with a pout. Somehow, she seems even more stunning, her hair tousled and skin slick with sweat. He smiles in apology and presses a soft kiss to the bridge of her nose.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, you know." He tells her and watches her flush worsen.

"You don't have to say that."

He laughs and shakes his head, peels off his shirt as he assures her, "I mean it."

Claire pats the empty space on the mattress beside her and he obliges, lying on his side as he studies her face. With renewed energy, she drapes one of her legs over his hip and bucks against him, motivating him to lay flat on his back. Claire places her hands on his chest as she moves to straddle him, suspending her weight just above his upper thighs.

He watches her hands travel towards his belt and she undoes it with steady fingers. The sound of her undoing the buckle makes him anxious and, this time, it's _him_ who lifts his hips in impatience. Claire bites her lower lip and watches his tortured expression as she leisurely pulls back the last of his clothing.

She would be lying to herself if she claimed she wasn't intimidated. Claire isn't entirely sure what she expected, but she knows that Piers is all that and _more_. She swallows her apprehension and carefully encircles the base of him with her fingers and the noise he makes in response fills her with pride.

As she begins to explore his length with her hands, she's faintly aware of a ringing in the distance. She pauses, fingers tantalizingly close to his aching head, and she looks over at his pants that were left in a wrinkled pile beside them.

"Your phone is ringing."

He cranes his neck, lifting his head to glare daggers at the pocket of his pants.

"Don't care."

Claire runs the soft pad of her thumb over the tip of him and he groans so loud that she has to press her thighs together to alleviate her worsening need.

"What if it's Chris?"

"Why would it be Chris?"

"Maybe he saw us."

Piers throws his head back and hisses when he feels her hot breath against him.

"He didn't."

"Just check..._please_?"

He sighs and fishes through his pants until he finds his phone. Piers glances at the screen and then rotates it around to show her.

"It's Finn." His amusement regarding her paranoia is evident in his voice.

Piers slides his finger across the screen to reject the call and drops it onto the mattress. Claire repositions herself, nuzzles her cheek against his thigh and—

_"NIVANS!"_

They both look to the phone in horror and Piers mentally kicks himself for his mistake.

_"WE HAVE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU!"_

Claire giggles, a sound that he thinks he loves, and he grins as he presses a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound.

"Sorry, I had one too many and decided to call it a night."

She's impressed with his delivery.

_"We thought you drowned in the lake and Marco jumped in trying to save ya!"_

He feels her laughter against his hand.

"Did he drown?" Piers dryly asks.

_"Almost! Reid had to jump in after him!"_

Claire starts to press kisses against his lower abs, runs her fingers over the raised scars on his skin, and he can barely keep it together.

"Bummer," he sighs at the feel of her tongue against his skin, "I was hoping you all drowned."

_"Uhhh, that's not very professional of you, lieutenant! Alpha team is nothing without us! We are irrepl_—"

She hears the call end when she envelops him with her mouth and his fingers instantly tangle themselves in her hair. Piers shudders beneath her and watches her with hooded eyes, entranced by the way her flushed lips stretch around him. Claire teasingly caresses what won't fit in her mouth and discovers that teasing the tip of him with her tongue elicits the most flattering noises from him.

Claire bobs her head back and forth slowly as she looks up at him through her dark lashes. He doesn't know how someone like her isn't taken, but he's pleased as hell that she isn't. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows that he wants this to last. He doesn't want to be her one night stand. At the very least, he owes her dinner, and he hopes that he can be persuasive enough for her to indulge him.

He doesn't think he can withstand this any longer. Piers is aching so hard that it _hurts_ and he doesn't want to ruin the night by finishing in her mouth. He murmurs her name to catch her attention and he gives her shoulder an appreciative squeeze. His fingers come untangled from her hair and he presses against the mattress, withdrawing from her, and she seems to understand what he needs when she crawls back up the length of the bed to lay beside him.

Piers hovers over her, supporting his weight on one of his forearms. He strokes the side of her face and worries a tendril of her silky hair between his fingers. He's nervous, maybe, or perhaps just anxious. Piers isn't quite as kind of sort of drunk as he was when she started this. He presses a kiss to her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and then her mouth.

It's a desperate, hungry kiss, one that's accompanied by his insistent tongue and the blunt edges of his teeth. Piers moans into her mouth, tastes her, and breaks off the kiss to nuzzle the side of her face.

"Is this alright?" He huskily whispers and she nods.

At long last, he pushes into her, and Piers is positive that he is going to die in this bed. She's slick and hot, drawing tighter around him with each inch that he gives her. His breathing is ragged and she feels it against the side of her neck. Piers pauses, overwhelmed by the feel of her, and she explores the toned muscle in his back with her hands.

Claire thrusts her hips forward and he feels himself bottom out in her. They both make a sound—delicious, dirty noises—and Piers tosses the last bit of self-control that he maintains to the wind. He moves, setting a steady pace as he slides in and out of her. The hot friction between them builds when she starts to move her hips in conjunction with his, earnestly matching his thrusts.

She hears him breathing against her ear and his breathlessness somehow adds to the experience. Claire arches her back off the bed and grips the headboard behind her for leverage. The ache worsens, his hand finds the sensitive flesh above where they're joined, and she thinks this is it, she's going to come, she's going to…

She does. Claire's knuckles are white from the force with which she grips the sheets below them as she tilts her head back and gasps. He watches her as she comes undone below him, eyes fluttering open and closed as she bows up off the bed and he's acutely aware of how drenched he is, how she's clenched impossibly tight around him, how he just made Claire _Redfield_ come.

He can't hold out. She's scratching an itch he can't reach and the solace that washes over him is overwhelming. His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave and he can't tell where she ends and he begins. Piers isn't sure if he has collapsed against her, but his body temporarily feels limp. He can't muster the energy to move and just breathes deeply, in and out, bringing in the scent of her perfume with the much needed oxygen.

When he opens his eyes, he finds that he's lying beside her with her curled up at his side. Her head is resting against his shoulder and her long hair is cascading over his arm while she traces shapes against his bare chest. He kisses the crown of her head and lets out a long sigh of relief.

"That was…" He realizes his vocabulary isn't vast enough to accurately portray what just transpired between the two of them.

"...something." She finishes for him with a sheepish smile.

He laughs and draws her closer to him, his hand resting on her hip.

"One down," he teases, "Fourteen more to go?"

Claire laughs and lifts her head from his shoulder to graze her lips along the underside of his jaw.

"Only fourteen?" She asks innocently and he shudders.

"You're right." He admits. "Make it forty."

"At _least_ forty." She corrects him and he nods.

"Better make it sixty just to be safe."


End file.
